The Wild Zone (29 page)

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” Tanya asked.

“Is there a problem?” Tom asked in return, holding his breath. Was the word out? Was what had happened with Ginny already making the rounds of the escort services of greater Miami? Had she reported him to the police? Had Carter?

“No problem at all,” Tanya said, quickly explaining the terms of the contract and ascertaining Tom’s exact address. “Cinnamon can be there in half an hour.”

“Great.”

“Thank you for your business, and please call us again.”

“Will do.” Tom hung up the phone, then laughed again. “Or Will
don’t,
as the case may be.” He pictured Jeff’s younger brother, the look on his face when Tom had pointed out the obvious truth about Jeff’s whereabouts, the way Will had tucked his tail between his legs and run when confronted with the cold, hard fact that Jeff was getting it on with little brother’s girl. “Hah!” Tom exclaimed triumphantly, wondering where the hell Jeff was now, why he hadn’t heard from him.

He’d tried to call him after his dismissal, but Jeff hadn’t picked up his cell. Nor had he returned the message he’d left him. No doubt Jeff was holed up somewhere with the Pomegranate, fucking both their brains out, Tom thought, lighting another cigarette as he headed back upstairs. Might as well take a shower, he decided, noting more blood on the white towels by the sink. “Great,” he muttered, grabbing a couple of clean towels from the linen closet. The bitch had made one hell of a mess.

He stared into the mirror over the bathroom sink, looking past his own reflection to see Ginny walking through the front door into the foyer, round face, curly blond hair, bright red lips. He watched her discard her sweater to reveal those huge, balloon-like breasts. He remembered thinking she could give Kristin a run for her money as he directed her up the stairs to his room, his hands already sneaking underneath her short skirt. “A hundred for a hand job, one fifty for a blow job,” she’d recited, as if reading from a menu, “two hundred if you want to come in my mouth. Three hundred for a straight fuck, five if you want to do anything fancy. I don’t do golden showers and I don’t do Greek.”

“You got something against Greeks?” Tom joked.

“I like Greeks. I’m just not into pain,” Ginny said.

“How about I tie you up?”

“No handcuffs,” she said. “Nothing I can’t get out of easily.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred.”

“Okay.”

“In cash. In advance.”

Tom shrugged, pulled five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills out of his back pocket. He’d been stealing a little bit of cash from his coworkers’ purses for months now. Twenty dollars here, another twenty there. Fifty from that twat Angela just the other day. Taking them to the bank, converting them into nice new hundreds. Five’ll get you ten that Angela’s the one whose complaints got me fired, he bet himself, watching as Ginny took off the rest of her clothes. She had a good body, he thought. Not as great as Kristin’s, but a hell of a lot better than Lainey’s. That stupid bitch, he thought, securing Ginny’s wrists to the bedposts with pillowcases and then climbing on top of her.

“Hey, easy there,” Ginny cautioned him as Tom pushed his way inside her, his hands kneading her breasts as if they were made of clay. “Careful, buddy,” she said. “Keep squeezing them like that, they’re liable to burst.”

“I think you should be quiet now,” Tom told her. He’d had enough of her instructions, her lists of don’ts. He continued to pound his way inside her, pretending she was Kristin, then Suzy, then Angela, then Lainey, then that little tease in Afghanistan, every bitch who’d ever said no, every bitch who’d ever complained.

“And I think you should go a little easier.”

“I’m not paying you to think.” Tom began pounding harder, biting her ear as his fingers scratched at her flesh.

“Okay, stop,” Ginny said, her eyes filling with angry tears.

“Sweetheart, I’m just getting started.”

“No. I told you, I don’t do pain. We’re finished here.” She struggled to loosen the ties at her wrists, whimpering as she squirmed to get out from under him.

“I say when we’re finished,” Tom said, really starting to enjoy himself now. What was it with women anyway? They were always leading you on, taking your money, and then leaving you high and dry. He’d been discharged from the army, been fired from his job, was about to be thrown out of his house, all because of some bitch. “Tell me you love me,” he directed Ginny.

“What?”

“You want me to go easy, tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” Ginny responded immediately, her eyes saying the exact opposite.

“Not good enough. You gotta make me believe it.”

“I love you,” Ginny said again.

“You can do better than that. Again.”

“I love you,” she shouted.

“I’m just not feeling it, sweetheart. Again.”

“No.”

“I said, again.”

“And I said, no!”

Which was when he lost it. The rest was a blur of fists and fury. Tom couldn’t remember the number of times he’d hit her, although he could still see the blood gushing from her nose and the bite marks spreading across her neck and chest. Ginny finally managed to free her hands and staggered toward the bathroom, her nose bleeding profusely as she gathered up her clothes. “Can’t say I didn’t get my money’s worth,” he shouted after her as she ran down the stairs and out onto the street.

Tom smiled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, recalling Jack Nicholson’s famous remark about hookers. At least he thought it was Jack Nicholson. Maybe it was Charlie Sheen. “I don’t pay them to come over,” he’d told an interviewer who’d questioned the actor’s occasional preference for call girls. “I pay them to leave.”

“That’s a good one,” he said, chuckling. The doorbell rang. Tom checked his watch. “Well, isn’t that nice? My little Cinnamon bun is early. Nice and eager, are you, sweetheart?” he asked, bouncing down the steps and opening the front door.

A young man in a beige suit stood smiling on the other side. “Tom Whitman?”

“Yes.”

The man thrust an envelope into his hands. “You’ve been served,” he said before making a hasty retreat.

“Again? Are you fucking kidding me?” Tom called after him. “What the hell is it this time?” He tore open the letter, read it quickly, then threw it to the floor. So the bitch was serving him with divorce papers after all, he thought, slamming the front door shut, then kicking at it with his heel. Several minutes later, he was back in the living room, his two .44 Magnums and his old Glock .23 on the coffee table in front of him. “Don’t think I’m gonna let that happen, sweetheart,” he said, lifting one of the .44s into his hand and steadying it with the other. “Not in this lifetime, anyway.” He pictured Lainey cowering in front of him, her shaking hands trying to cover her face. Then he aimed the gun directly at her head and pulled the trigger.

TWENTY-NINE

S
HE
WAS WAITING FOR
him at the airport.

At first, Jeff didn’t see her, so engrossed was he in trying to get ahold of Tom. But Tom’s line was busy, even after three attempts. Who the hell is he talking to? Jeff wondered impatiently as he strode purposefully along the moving sidewalk at the busy Miami airport. Aside from Jeff, Tom didn’t really have any friends, and now that Lainey had left him . . . Jeff hoped Tom wasn’t badgering Lainey, that he knew when to leave bad enough alone. “Excuse me. Coming through,” he barked at a plump, middle-aged woman who was hogging the left side, despite instructions in both English and Spanish that said those who chose not to walk should stick to the right. The woman exhaled a notable sigh as she shifted slowly to the other side of the walkway, as if Jeff was inconveniencing her and not the other way around, although her scowl turned to a flirtatious half smile as soon as she saw him. Jeff passed her without expression, hurrying toward the exit.

“Jeff,” a voice called after him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

He spun around, his eyes searching through the colorfully dressed crowd. He saw a couple of teenage boys laughing and punching each other on the arms in greeting, a young woman arguing in Spanish with an older, gray-haired man Jeff assumed was her grandfather, and another young woman with blond hair and way too much makeup smiling and waving in his direction. He took a few steps toward her, trying to figure out who she was and what she wanted, when the voice reached him again.

“Jeff.” It summoned him from somewhere to his right.

Still he didn’t see her. Was he hearing things, imagining the sound of her voice?

“Jeff,” she said a third time, this time so close he felt her breath on the side of his face, the touch of her hand on his arm.

“Suzy,” he said, not quite believing his eyes as he drew her into his arms. He held her tight, feeling her frail body melt into his. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, as if trying to convince himself that what he was seeing was real.

“You told me you were coming back this afternoon. There was only one flight from Buffalo. It wasn’t very hard to figure out—”

He kissed her. The kiss was soft and tender. Her mouth tasted of toothpaste and Juicy Fruit gum. Her hair smelled like a bouquet of fresh gardenias. “I’m so glad to see you.” He loosened his grip only enough to be able to take her all in. She was wearing a yellow blouse and light green pants. Her hair hung in loose brown waves around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, although she didn’t look fine, Jeff realized. Something was off. Even though it didn’t appear as if there were any new bruises scarring her pale skin, she seemed even more fragile, more frightened than usual. “I did it,” she said, her voice a girlish whisper. She glanced over her shoulder, squeezed his fingers. “I left him.”

Jeff kissed her again, this time harder, longer. His heart was beating faster than he could ever remember.

“I really did it,” she said, laughing now.

“You really did it,” he repeated, his mind racing as rapidly as his heart, wondering what the hell he should do now.

“If you don’t mind,” a woman said, maneuvering past them. “You’re right in everybody’s way.”

“Get a room,” a man suggested, brusquely brushing past.

“Good idea.” Jeff took Suzy’s arm. “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t have it. Dave took my keys when he left for work, said I wouldn’t be needing them.” She laughed. “Guess he was right.”

Jeff hugged her close to his side as he led her toward the exit marked
TAXIS AND LIMOUSINES.

“Where to?” the driver asked as they crawled into the back of the cab.

“Do you know a good motel in the area?” he asked. “Something nice and quiet.”

“Nothing’s going to be very quiet this close to the airport,” the cabbie said.

“Not too busy,” Jeff clarified, feeling the weight of Suzy’s hand in his.

The driver’s eyes narrowed in his rearview mirror. “I have no idea how busy these places get.”

“Fine. It doesn’t matter. Wherever.”

“There’s a bunch of motels a few blocks from here. Can’t vouch for how nice they are.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Jeff said. It was only temporary, he was thinking, until he could solidify the plan that had been taking shape in his mind since he’d boarded the plane from Buffalo and then put that plan into action. With any luck, everything could be settled as early as tonight.

Of course, everything depended on his reaching Tom.

“Did you see your mother?” Suzy was asking.

“No. She died before I had the chance.”

Suzy looked stricken. “Oh, Jeff. I’m so sorry.”

“No big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal. It must have felt as if she was abandoning you all over again.”

Jeff felt his eyes well up with tears as he buried his face in Suzy’s soft, flower-scented hair. “It’s like you’re inside my head,” he whispered.

“I hope so,” she said. “You’re inside mine.”

The cabbie cleared his throat as he pulled up to the entrance of the Southern Comfort Motel. “Sorry to interrupt, but . . . how’s this place here? Looks like the nicest one around.”

“Beats the Bayshore,” Jeff told him, fishing in his pocket for some cash.

“Don’t know that one,” the cabbie said, pocketing the money without offering to make change.

Jeff held tight to Suzy’s hand as they exited the cab. Was it his imagination or had she winced when he put his arm around her waist? Approximately ten minutes later, room key in hand, they proceeded along the red-and-beige-carpeted corridor to their room at the very end of the hall.

“Make love to me,” she whispered as soon as they were inside.

He didn’t have to be asked twice. In the next second, his lips were back on hers, and they were pulling at each other’s clothes as they fell toward the queen-size bed. He heard a voice say, “I love you,” followed quickly by another voice echoing the first, their voices mingling as their bodies merged.

It wasn’t until afterward, lying curled up in each other’s arms, that he saw the deep welts on the side of her waist. “What’s this?” he asked, gently running his fingers along the angry red lines.

“It’s nothing.” Suzy recoiled in pain in spite of the tenderness of his touch. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It
does
matter. What in God’s name did that monster do to you? Tell me,” Jeff insisted. “Please, Suzy. Tell me what he did.”

She nodded, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “He heard me talking to you on the phone last night. He was so angry.” She brought her hand to her head, rubbed her forehead until it grew red. “He hit me with his belt. He kept hitting me.”

“That fucking piece of shit.”

“He said it was just a taste of what would happen if I ever spoke to you again.”

“I swear I’ll break his fucking neck.”

“I was up all night, planning my escape, but he stayed home this morning, so I couldn’t leave right away. Luckily he had an appointment this afternoon that he couldn’t miss. He ordered me not to move a muscle, said I couldn’t so much as go to the bathroom until he got back. He took all my cash and my car keys, like I told you, even my ID. But I had a few dollars hidden away, and as soon as he was gone, I grabbed it and took off. I went straight to the airport. To you.”

“You did exactly the right thing.”

“We have to leave Miami,” she said.

“What?”

“We’ll go someplace where he’ll never find us. New York, maybe. I’ve always wanted to see New York.”

“Suzy . . . ,” Jeff began.

“Or L.A., or maybe Chicago.”

“Suzy . . .”

“It doesn’t even have to be a big city. Maybe somewhere smaller, less obvious. It really doesn’t matter where we go, as long as we’re together, as long as we get out of Miami before he finds us.”

“We can’t,” Jeff said simply.

“Why not? Why can’t we?”

“For starters, I don’t have any money.”

“We don’t need money. You’ll find a job. Just as soon as we get settled. And I’ll get one, too. You’ll see. It’ll all work out.”

“He’d hire detectives,” Jeff said. “And we can’t spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, afraid of our own shadows. We can’t keep running away. Sooner or later, you know he’ll find us.”

“You’re saying we’re trapped.” Suzy began to cry. “You’re saying it’s hopeless.”

“It’s not hopeless. Not as long as we’re together. Not as long as you love me.”

“I love you,” Suzy said.

“Then everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“But how can you say that? He’s going to find us. He’s going to kill us both.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“How can you stop it?”

“Do you trust me?” Jeff asked.

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“Then trust me when I tell you that everything’s going to be okay. I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”

“You promise?” Suzy pleaded.

“I promise,” Jeff said, kissing her eyes closed and rocking her gently in his arms until he felt her body starting to relax. After several minutes, the steady, rhythmic sound of her breathing told him she’d fallen asleep. Jeff waited a few more minutes until he was sure, then he climbed out of bed, resting Suzy’s head gently on the pillow as he removed his cell phone from the pocket of his pants and carried it into the bathroom. He closed the door, punched in Tom’s number. It was still busy. “Shit,” he muttered. “Call me. It’s important,” he instructed Tom’s voice mail. Then he called Kristin, exhaling a deep breath of relief when she answered the phone. “Good. I was afraid you might have left for work,” he said as soon as she said hello.

“I was just walking out the door. Are you still in Buffalo?”

“No, I’m here. In Miami.”

“I don’t understand. Why aren’t you home? Where are you?”

“Room 119 in the Southern Comfort Motel, up by the airport.”

“What? Why, for God’s sake?”

“I’m with Suzy.”

Silence. Then, “What’s happening, Jeff?”

Jeff quickly apprised her of the situation, that Suzy had been waiting for him when he’d arrived back in Miami, that Dave had beaten her again, this time with a belt, that he’d brought her to the motel to keep Dave from finding her, that she was so exhausted, she’d fallen asleep. He left out the part about him and Suzy making love, although he suspected Kristin had already drawn her own conclusions, that that was the question she’d really been asking.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m not sure,” Jeff lied, deciding there was no reason to tell Kristin more than she needed to know. If things didn’t work out the way he hoped, the less people involved, the better. “Have you seen Tom?”

“Not for a couple of days. Why?”

“I need to talk to him. His line’s busy, and he isn’t picking up his messages.”

“He’ll turn up. What is it they say about bad pennies?”

Jeff ran his hand through his hair in growing frustration. Bad pennies were exactly what he needed right now. “Is my brother there?”

“I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Shit. I need him to do something for me.”

“You can probably reach him on his cell.”

“You know the number?”

“I have it somewhere.” Kristin located Will’s number, then dictated it to Jeff.

“Okay, listen,” he said, committing the number to memory. “I might need to reach you later. Can you tell Joe that I’ll be calling and not to give me a hard time?”

“Should I be concerned?” Kristin asked.

“No,” Jeff answered. “There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine.”

KRISTIN HUNG UP
the phone, then just stood there in her kitchen for several minutes, staring into space. She knew something was about to happen, although she wasn’t sure what. But she knew Jeff well enough to know when he was planning something and that whatever it was, it was going to happen sooner rather than later, maybe even tonight.

She looked at the scrap of paper in her hand, silently reciting the number of Will’s cell. What did Jeff want with his brother, and where had Will been all day? He’d already left the apartment by the time she woke up this morning.

At first she thought Will might have left for good, that he was on a jet back to Buffalo, and wondered idly whether his plane might cross with Jeff’s in midair. But a quick check of the apartment revealed his suitcase and clothes were still there, so he was probably just out walking, trying to clear his head, figure things out. She felt guilty about what had happened last night, what had
almost
happened, she amended quickly, then just as quickly brushed such feelings aside. Guilt was a useless emotion, she reminded herself. It accomplished nothing and never did anyone any good. Besides, it was too late for guilt.

It was time to move on.

WILL WAS SITTING
on a bench by the ocean, watching the waves rush to the shore, only to be dragged back out, then pushed forward again, over and over again. It’s true what they say about the ocean making you realize how small and insignificant you really are, he thought, and then laughed, drawing the anxious glance of the elderly, white-haired gentleman sitting on the other end of the bench.

Will didn’t need the ocean to make him feel small. He already understood how insignificant he was.

If Amy or Suzy hadn’t already convinced him of it, then certainly Kristin had proven it to him once and for all last night.

What a useless fuckup he’d turned out to be, he thought, feeling the vibration of his cell phone in his shirt pocket. Probably his mother, he thought. One more woman to make him feel like less of a man. He extricated the phone and checked his caller ID. “Hello?” he asked when he failed to recognize the number.

“Will, hi. It’s Jeff.”

Will said nothing. Had Kristin already told his brother about last night?

“Will? Are you there?”

“I’m here. Where are you?”

“I’m at the Southern Comfort Motel.”

“In Buffalo?”

“No. Here. In Miami. Up by the airport. Room 119.”

“What the hell are you doing there? I thought you went to see your mom.”